


Wednesday, 3:30PM

by QueenSinnamon



Category: VIXX
Genre: Angst, Fantasy, M/M, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-19 23:57:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10650762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenSinnamon/pseuds/QueenSinnamon
Summary: They would sit there for awhile, Wonshik nuzzling against Hongbin's palm as he mutters a few bars of his new song, and Hongbin wishes, always wishes, they could stay there forever.





	Wednesday, 3:30PM

**Author's Note:**

> I was in a dark place, and this isn't a happy fic, so please take care.

_3:00PM_

They're happy today, a small voice in the back of Hongbin's head notes. At 2:00PM, Wonshik arrives at the café they had agreed on, his small mouth pursed, eyebrows scrunched tight, hands curled so tightly his knuckles bled white. He wouldn't say what it was about, no matter how hard Hongbin tried, and he'd tried. So many times. But Wonshik refuses, time and time again, to tell him why.

So instead, Hongbin tries to take Wonshik's mind off of it. He'd tell puns, maneuver a straw around his fingers, tell Wonshik about a day he had completely made up. Sometimes it works, and Wonshik's frown softens and soon he's laughing at Hongbin's bad puns, or telling equally banal ones, if not worse. Today is one of those days.

Other times, it doesn't, and Hongbin would watch Wonshik try, and fail, to not send a sharp glare his way for laughing too loudly at a joke they both knew wasn't funny. It's those  times when Hongbin wonders if it's him Wonshik is angry at, and he tries not feel hurt but perhaps it shows on his face, because then Wonshik would catch himself, take his hand, bringing to his lips to brush lightly against his pulse. "I'm sorry," he'd whisper so tenderly it always breaks Hongbin's heart. "Bad day, is all. It's not you."

Wonshik has always been able to read him. "Your eyes and mouth are really big, so it always shows," he had once said. Hongbin is convinced Wonshik can actually read his mind, and his eyes and mouth aren't that big. They would sit there for awhile, Wonshik nuzzling against Hongbin's palm as he mutters a few bars of his new song, and Hongbin wishes, always wishes, they could stay there forever.

It's just not to be.

At 3:25PM, Wonshik would stand, cross the table, and kiss him, long and deep, before stumbling on one excuse or another. A lie, Hongbin knows, a different one each time, but he kisses Wonshik back, and he knows it's futile but sometimes he asks for him to stay a little longer, just a couple more minutes, and sometimes it almost looks as if he would, but Wonshik never stays. He would give Hongbin one last kiss, and then he'd leave, bag slung over his shoulder, adjusting his snapback as he walks out of the café.

Hongbin had always thought it was stupid. Why wear a hat if you're going to wear it backwards away from the sun anyway? What was even the point? But Wonshik was insistent. He loved his hats. And Hongbin knows it's just a childish part of him, blaming the hat. He had managed to coax Wonshik not to wear it many times but nothing's changed.

At exactly 3:30PM, hat or no, Wonshik would step out of the café, strong and well, his whole life ahead of him, their lives ahead of them, his and Hongbin's, together, only to be violently snuffed out by a screeching ten-wheeler.

Wonshik was strong. Hongbin has never won against him in a wrestling match, so it's almost laughable, so ironically comedic, how easily four tons of metal threw him up and under its massive bulk as if he weighed nothing more than a rag doll. The truck crashes into the café, sending shards of glass flying, and Hongbin's seen this enough times to know the booth at the far right corner of the shop is miraculously safe, where he now sits, where he and Wonshik were together last.

Time always feels as if it's slowed down just for this moment, so syrupy thick that Hongbin could see everything, how Wonshik had taken a split second to turn, mouth open, perhaps to yell at him to hide, before he disappeared, and everything around Hongbin crashed and burned, people falling down, screaming in pain as they're caught under the front wheels of the vehicle or jammed between furniture and broken infrastructure.

People outside are screaming in panic, or looking for help. Several have already rushed in to pull people out. Some have even tried pushing the truck, hoping that the person they'd seen disappear under it had miraculously survived. One of them calls him to help, but Hongbin doesn't move from his seat. He knows better.

He picks up the straw again, turns it around his fingers, once, twice, thrice, as he whispers words of power, pouring his soul into every syllable. "Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine." He feels it, the life seeping out of him, as he sobs the last few words.

He's done this so many times now, but the pain is as raw as it was the first time, tearing through his chest and burning his eyes. He doesn't think it would ever get better.

Everything around him moves, backwards like a tape put on rewind, blood rushing back into veins, limbs reattaching themselves, concrete and glass flying back into place and becoming whole again. The truck is gone, for now, and Wonshik is whole and well, just walking through the door, frown set, mouth pouty.

Hongbin wipes his eyes, unsurprised to find the skin of his cheeks feeling courser than it was earlier, his hands just a little bit more wrinkly.

Wonshik doesn't notice as he sits across him, and Hongbin prefers it that way. Wonshik needs not know as he spends the last hour of his life in that café, at that table, with Hongbin, again and again, until Hongbin has spent all he has to give, never moving past that one Wednesday afternoon, 3:30PM.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! ♥  
> I know this wasn't the most pleasant story I've ever written, but if you liked it anyway, or thought it was worth anything at all, please leave a comment or a kudos or a little gift for me through [here](http://PayPal.Me/ChaJungPiggybank). 
> 
> This is a new thing I'm doing, because I've been told through some asks and tweets that, if I ever sell my stories, then they would happily buy them. Well...I'm not selling them; I don't think I'm that good just yet, or if I ever will be. I'll just be posting my stories as I usually do through here and on tumblr, and you can choose whichever form of feedback you want, or not, it's completely up to you. I would greatly appreciate any feedback with all my heart.


End file.
